


This Be the Verse

by scienceofrebellion



Category: ASOUE, Lemony Snicket - Fandom, Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:49:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scienceofrebellion/pseuds/scienceofrebellion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short story written for false-spring-queen's ASOUE Friendship Writing Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Be the Verse

The typewriter was broken; quite obviously broken, in fact. There were various metal keys lying about near where he had smashed it on the floor, and various cuts on his knees where he had collapsed onto them distraughtly, an adverb which here means: "so absolutely sad that he forgot about the sharp typewriter remnants lying in the direct path of his epidermis", another word which here means—

"Skin."

He looked up.

"What happened to your skin?"

He had rolled up his trousers in order to inspect the stinging pain coming from his leg, and after a moment of observation, realised that he regretted destroying his only efficient writing tool much more than the pain.

The man who stood in the doorway stared down at Lemony Snicket with concern. He was somewhat young to certain people, and somewhat old to others, but he was not very young or very old to anyone, except to Lemony, who had always found him ancient.

"You didn't have to break it," he sighed. "It was a gift from Jerome—"

"It was Esme who chose it." Lemony shifted away from the broken contraption. "She said they were very in," he added despondently.

Jacques nodded knowingly. There was an uncomfortable silence before he finally spoke. "I'm leaving."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"Your apology is ingenuine," Lemony responded, a word which here means "a meaningless phrase spoken simply to console others".

"No." Jacques sat down in front of Lemony, careful to avoid the typewriter remnants. " I am sorry. They didn't deserve to die."

_She didn't deserve to die._

There was another moment of silence. But this time it felt right. Purposeful. After a moment, Jacques scooted over to his younger brother and removed his hat, retrieving the note tucked into the inside lapel.

"Give that message to Dewey Denouement," Lemony said, as Jacques examined it. "If all else fails, the Hotel Denouement will be the last safe place."

"When?" Jacques whispered.

"I don't know. It could be years."

"Why the Denouement?"

Lemony closed his eyes. His mother had told him, once before, a long time ago, that closing your eyes would magnify your other senses. He had never believed her, mostly because he knew for a fact it wasn't true, but his pain worsened as his eyes shut. He liked that. It felt as though he could control the pain, in a way, even if it meant worsening it.

It was completely ridiculous, but nothing really made sense anymore, anyway. Not after the schism.

"The Denouement was where I first danced with her."

He could not see Jacques face, but he could hear the sound of him folding the note and putting it into his own hat.

"I should stay." His voice was quiet. "I'm your brother." He looked down at Lemony's broken typewriter and broken heart. "But more than that. I'm your friend."

Lemony opened his eyes again, looked around at the darkened walls around him and the books that lined it and Jacques Snicket.

"The world is quiet here," he whispered. "And so is Beatrice Baudelaire."

And he finally let go and sobbed as Jacques held him like they were children once more, and he felt more than ever the wickedness and cruelty of the world, and how it seemed like no matter how much fighting they did or how many fires were put out, the wicked will always win and the good will always burn, burn like Beatrice Baudelaire did.

"There aren't good people and wicked people," Jacques whispered. "Everyone has a choice. Sometimes those choices are easy. And sometimes they're not."

Years later, when Jacques was gone, when everyone was gone and everything that had mattered was in ashes, Lemony Snicket found himself with a typewriter once again. He did not destroy it this time.

Instead, he wrote.


End file.
